Hanging in the balance
by ZBBZL
Summary: "Kensi's no rookie, and she's not stupid. It's really bad, this time. Head injuries, concussions are a bitch; but open, bleeding gashes all over her skull, and the sound of bone cracking ? It's probably already too late to do anything." Four-parts, involves the team, but mostly KD.
1. Chapter 1

_To the awesome Jess. Happy Birthday, Twin! And I hope from the bottom of my heart that you will love this not so little present! Bunches of threes for you. And I hope that you all like it, too. Though, today is Jess' day, so go and read her, you fools! Today is her special day, go and tell her just how very much you love her, there are stories waiting for you to be read and reviewed!  
_

* * *

_She's screwed_.

Not just in big trouble, not just in trouble deep – she has screwed up big time this time that _will_ be her _last_ opportunity to fail, and there's no way out of this mess. She's completely, utterly, one hundred percent screwed.

Help is not coming – how could it be, anyway, since no one knows where she is, or has any reason to think she's in trouble in the first place ? How could the team, her friends, come to her rescue, when she's done everything humanly possible to keep them away, deflecting questions, vehemently saying over again that everything was damn _fine_ ?

Deeks knows. He always just _knew_ things, could call her out on any lie, any little split of hesitation or the light shaking of her voice that gave her away, the shadow of doubt and uncertainty that would cloud her eyes before she tried so hard to keep a straight face while staring back into those questioning, caring, _beautiful_ blue orbs of his. And yet, everything designed to drive him away had worked. All the anger and frustration poured out at him, thrown to his face, he who was _so_ not the cause of the turmoil of emotions overwhelming her and the messy web of lies and hurt she was plunged in…

_It had worked_. All the insults, all the hurt, telling him that she wanted him to leave her alone. Telling him to stay the hell away from her. Telling him she _fucking_ didn't need him, and didn't want him there.

_You have no right to pry into my life. My life, Deeks. There's you and there's me. Don't think that a beer and a burger every once in a while means you get to barge in and do and ask and take whatever you want._

As Kensi is lying in the dark, a weight on her skull so heavy she can't command her brain to open her eyes and try to take in her surroundings, the image of the look on his face is painted in the back of her eyelids, and never leaves her as she feels the pain pulse through her body. She knows that this feeling dawning on her, the drowsiness, the fiery wave of striking pain, her inability to stay focused long enough to _think_, can only be due to her head injury. The repetitive slamming of her head against the floor as they dragged her in there, and left her pooling in an ocean of red.

Kensi's no rookie, and she's not stupid. It's _really_ bad, this time. Head injuries, concussions are a bitch; but open, bleeding gashes all over her skull, and the sound of bone cracking ? It's probably already too late to do anything. And, those are just some among many; a myriad of cuts and scratches graze her skin _everywhere_, and, God, it _hurts_. It fucking hurts, and she's a wrecked tangle of bruised, broken limbs. Breathing hurts. Thinking hurts.

Seeing his face as she struggles oh so hard not to faint or doze off, slowly slipping into Death's welcoming arms… God, _this_ is what hurts the most, at the same time as she's sure the image of him is the only thing that keeps her heart beating and fighting. Just his face. He's angry, he's hurt, he's confused and lost, just like he had been when she had yelled at him all those terrible things, but dear Lord, he's still _her_ Deeks and she can't find it in her to care about what he looks like. _He's there_. Whether to haunt her, blame her for her dumb pride or stubbornness, her sheer idiocy, her recklessness, or take her hand and hold onto it until the end, it doesn't matter anymore. He's there, and Kensi is glad that at least, his face will be the last thing she sees, the last thing her mind allows her to think of and hold onto before she dies.

She is going to die. Soon.

She is about to leave him. Let him spend the rest of his life replaying her hateful words in his head, thinking he didn't mean a thing to her – he meant _everything_, for God's sakes. Deeks is her partner, her best friend, the only one she let in, and yet the one she pushed the hardest and the farthest away. But, Deeks was hers, just as much as she'd become his over the years; if ever there was a doubt about this, Kensi knew it now. She's dying, and he's the only one she can think of, the only one making her fight, his face and his voice, the deep, reassuring rumble of his voice echoing in her mind the only thing having her heart refuse the slow beat, and keep racing painfully against the wall of her chest.

Kensi closes her eyes. She knows she shouldn't, that she should fight harder, that she _has_ to, if only for another few minutes of Deeks with her. She can't. Her body hurts too much, her heart aches, the lump in her throat makes swallowing so painful she wants to give in and let the pain win. They kicked her in the ribs, and Kensi's sure she can't roll over on her side and throw up as her stomach violently lurches.

She's going to die like this, choking and gagging, long before her injuries can finish the work these men started and _end_ her.

Dying hurts. It's not like she imagined, at all. She never thought she would die alone, wrapped in the darkness of a filthy room, broken limbs pleading, begging for the _release_ death would bring them. She never thought she'd die because she was too fucking stupid to ask for help, to let the people who loved her and cared about her help her, and come along on this dangerous path she'd taken alone.

She wonders briefly if her dad had felt the same. If he had been brave, if he had fought, or if he had begged. If he had sobbed, praying he would get to see her again.

She's going to ask him herself anytime now.

He's going to be so mad. She wouldn't be there if she had trusted her friends, the man she knew to love her and whom she had destroyed. And still, he had tried, again and again; even after that day, after all the yelling, Deeks had tried, everyday, to get _them_ back. And Kensi had only responded with silence or short nods, never allowing him to get too close, nor herself to laugh at his jokes, smile back at his grins, or melt under his persistent gaze or gentle touch.

He had not pushed to coax her into sharing whatever was on her mind. He had given up on that front. But, he had never given up on them. On _her_.

She has screwed him up, too.

She has ruined him. She _is_ going to ruin him. Deeks cared like he breathed; it came naturally for him to push, and offer his help, his shoulder to lean on, his strength to join forces with hers. He really loved her – _loves_ her. As a friend, as a partner, but as so much more at the same time. And her heart constricts and aches right now, because she knows she does, too, and that she will never get a change to say it, and show it.

God, she's wasted so much time denying it, to herself, and to everyone else. So much time wasted, so many things left unsaid, words never uttered that are going to follow her to the grave.

_I trust you, I care about you. I need you. I want you by my side. _It's not much, it's nothing, and she's never said it. At first, it had been so hard to let him in, and allow herself to like him. He was too nice, too kind, too forgiving – she wasn't used to that, or maybe her heart had just closed its doors to the sweet, Prince Charming type. She had learned the lesson the hard way the last time, and now, kindness rhymed with suspect. And then… Deeks was so undeniably her perfect match, both in the job and in every field (oh God how she couldn't even find the strength to be embarrassed of the thought), that when he looked at her, she felt _clean_ again. Clean record, no trace of the past heartache, and still, she had let it go because she was too much of a hypocrite to see what was right under her nose.

Stupid.

Stubborn.

_Fucking scared_.

Such a shame, really. She's always heard people who had faced near-death experiences saying that they had seen a bright flash of light, a glowing white luring them, a comforting presence accompanying them down the way, walking through the tunnel. She's heard of seeing your life in front of your very eyes, moments that mattered, fond memories, people you loved blurring your vision with a sensory overload of love and fear and every little mixed feeling in between.

She knows she's going to see her dad. So, as Kensi lets it all wash over her, the waves of blissful oblivion as the dizziness took over the pain crashing her under, it's not her father she sees. No happy memories from her childhood, no particular moments spent with the team, with Callen, Sam, or Hetty. No trace of Eric or Nell, no. She loves them all, but the only one she sees is him.

And everything that could have happened, had she not been this stupid.

She can almost feel his lips softly pressed on hers, and the shiver running down her spine as his hands would trace every bit of skin they could reach, warm fingers, hot breath on her. Fluttering kisses, lingering touches, gorgeous smiles and the sweet scent of him. Salt and sand on his skin, droplets of water lost in his golden curls, coffee and candy on his tongue.

_Deeks_.

She can almost feel it, and for a second, the tiny, brief second _just_ before she gives in and lets _it_ pull her under, Kensi really reckons it's _there_. And then, she hears it. A voice. She hears it as if through a haze, fog blurring her mind, but she hears it, and she feels fingers wrap around her wrist, searching for the pulse she's not sure is still beating.

"Come on, Agent Blye," the voice says, one of a woman. It's soothing, but it only makes Kensi want to let go of all the hurt. "Your friends are on their way. Just hold on. If you can hear me, please squeeze my hand, or open your eyes."

She can't. She's already dead, that Kensi is sure of. If she's not, she's not going to make it to the hospital, or wherever else they want to take her. She hears someone kneeling near, but she can't bring herself to move, not even when the voice pleads her again to squeeze or move a finger. She feels a second pair of hands on her, two fingers placed against the skin of her neck, checking on her weak pulse, and then, the sharp pain of a needle plunging deep in her skin. She wants to yelp or gasp, or cry, but she can't.

And then, it's a frenzy. She feels herself being lifted, and every single muscle in her body protests against the motion. It's like a knife is twisting inside her, thousands swords assaulting every inch of her. The fierce pain is throbbing, and she doesn't manage to open her mouth, if only to whimper. She hears the sirens, and the loud sound _kills_ her, her pulse pounding in her temple so hard she would give anything to make it stop. The bumps on the road as the ambulance drives off break her even more, if possible, and at some point, Kensi just stop hearing, or caring.

It's all blank. Or dark, she doesn't know. She no longer feels anything. The pain is numb, she feels dull.

That's _it_.

* * *

_to be continued_


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow guys, I'm seriously blown away by your enthusiasm - you can ask Jess! So here is the second part. I feel like I need to specify a few things: this story will be 4 chapters-long, as it's written in the summary. Each chapter isn't told by one team member's POV, it's mostly seen through Kensi or Deeks. It is a KD story, after all. With that, on with the show. Hope you enjoy._ :)

* * *

Twenty-five minutes.

_One thousand and five hundred seconds_.

It really is nothing, and yet, those few minutes here ? Those little, meaningless seconds for anyone else, could be the one separating Deeks from the last image of Kensi, alive and well, to Kensi Marie Blye, beloved friend, 1982-2013.

He got a phone call twenty-five minutes ago. Twenty-five minutes ago, Kensi was alive. Unconscious, in _really_ bad shape, but alive.

Ever since ? No news. And as Sam turns right, avoiding road works on some street Deeks doesn't even recognize even though he knows this city like the back of his hand, Deeks can't help the urge to just jump out of the car and run to UCLA Medical Center. He won't stand another minute wasted in the traffic when his partner, his Kensi _needs_ him.

Twenty-five minutes. It's nothing, but when they're filled with silence and tension and fear and sheer _agony_, twenty-five minutes mean a hell lot more. It takes twenty-five minutes for Deeks to queue in line and get Kensi's favorite treats every morning – whether he stops by the Starbucks just around her corner in the midst of impatient business men or overly exhausted college students with bloodshot eyes, or when he drives to that little bakery in Venice, collecting the sugar-sprinkled, jelly-filled strawberry with chocolate _precious_ doughnuts. Twenty-five minutes, at least, to make Kensi leave her bed on Saturdays when he knocks on her door at 6 AM sharp (for their morning jog that always ends up at the beach, and Kensi _never_ figures how she didn't see it coming) with breakfast and a handful of coffees; he uses the spare key, knowing that he will get to see Kensi reluctantly wrap her blanket around her shoulders before dragging herself to the living-room, glaring at him all the way there.

It takes a twenty-five minutes drive to reach her mom's house from his place; twenty-five minutes of an anxious, nervous, fidgeting Kensi saying it's a _gigantic_ mistake to have ever agreed to _this_: dinner at Julia's with the _cute_ detective (oh dear God).

It took twenty-five minutes to have a little smile grace her lips, this morning.

And it takes twenty-five minutes to reach Santa Monica when Callen, Sam and Deeks are halfway on their drive to the warehouse where they got an alert of Kensi's whereabouts, and Deeks receives a call from LAPD Lieutenant Evan Cole, telling him that Agent Blye was found.

There's a split of second, just a tiny breath before the word comes out, one single word that has Deeks' heart skip a beat, and then pound hard against his chest. _Alive_. It doesn't mean Kensi's fine, or out of the woods; it doesn't explain what the hell she was doing, why her phone was turned off, or anything, really. It _doesn't_, and oddly enough, Deeks still expected it: a death sentence, or the sheer relief of finding out that his badass of a partner _couldn't_ be taken down.

Being unable to do a thing and having to wait just kills him. Being stuck in traffic with Callen and Sam, both men just as worried as him (he can see it, he knows it, even if he's pretty sure their concern _definitely_ isn't tinted with those feelings driving him crazy) is probably the worst. Kensi… she means the world to all of them, in different ways, sure, but still. Kensi is their little sister, the one for whom Callen and Sam would do anything; that's part of what he feels for her, too. They have this in common, the three of them driven by the desperate need for action.

They're no good at this waiting game. Standing by and watching as their world crashes down is something they simply cannot deal with. And yet, there's nothing they can do but honk the horn at the line of drivers in front of them, too slow, too annoying, simply too oblivious to the fact that the life of Kensi Blye is hanging in the balance. She was alive twenty-five minutes ago; Deeks knows that there's no guarantee in life, and even less in their line of work. Lots of things can happen in twenty-five minutes, and he just can't come to terms with the fact that maybe, when he crosses the doors of the hospital, he will be greeted by the news of the _inacceptable_.

Naively enough, he chooses to believe that the sooner he is by her side, the more helpful he will be. That maybe then, the cards will be in his hands to play; that maybe, there's _something_ he will be able to do.

"We're not losing her today," Sam's deep, calm voice breaks the silence in the car. "Kensi will bury us all. She's just like Hetty, she's strong, she's smart. We're _not_ losing her today."

Callen leans in from the backseat, reaching for Deeks' shoulder, squeezing gently. He doesn't even try to pretend his fingers aren't shaking. "He's right. Kensi would hate us for worrying."

He thinks he can deal with Kensi being angry with him, as long as she opens her eyes eventually. That's all he asks for, that she stays with them, with _him_. Even if she'd made it clear that he was no important part of her life, even if she'd kept things secret from him and the team. No matter what. He needs her to be okay. He needs her to fight, if not for him, at least for herself, because the world is not ready to lose Kensi kickass Blye.

_He_ isn't ready for this.

Still, he gulps hard, and tries to find his voice to reply, or just thank them; the words never leave his mouth. He simply nods, staring back at the road. He can't do this; can't let them comfort him when he knows they're hurt and scared, too. He's a wreck, he won't deny this – Kensi is the one person who pierced through the dark, the one thing that matters the most in his life; certainly the most significant relationship he's ever had (the longest, too), and if he loses her…

None of them is ready to lose Kensi. So, now is not the time to indulge into comforting words of hope, or prayers. There can be no God who would allow this, anyway; taking Kensi away from him without giving him a chance to apologize for letting her down. For not pushing hard enough, for not digging deeper. For letting her fence him out, when he could have been there and kept this from happening had she not.

It's his own damn fault. The clock is already ticking, and if those twenty-five minutes are the last for her, if she's gone before they reach the hospital, then it's on him.

"It's not your fault, Deeks," Sam says, as if reading his mind. "The girl is sneaky, she knows how to hide secrets. You couldn't know. None of us could. She doesn't need you to beat yourself up, she needs _you_."

Sam pulls over, about to park in the lot in front of the hospital. Deeks is out, running to the entrance doors, even before he finishes his sentence.

* * *

Lt. Evan Cole has seen his own fair share of gruesome things in eleven years working for the LAPD. In a way, finding Special Agent Blye alive should be comforting; seeing that she had her clothes on had been a relief, too.

But, oh God, the blood… There was a lot of blood, pooling around her head. Losing so much blood was no good, and for long minutes, he had stayed still, watching the paramedics kneeling next to her and checking on her pulse, trembling fingers clenching around his phone. This woman was Detective Deeks' partner; she meant something to one of _them_, and for Evan Cole, it felt just like one of his own men's life was at stake. And that was why he had escorted the ambulance to the hospital and had a dozen officers stationed everywhere in the place, guarding the doors leading to the OR or the entire floor.

Whoever did that to her, well… No matter how long it takes to find those people, he's pretty sure that they won't take another breath after Marty Deeks gets a minute alone with them. And then, if anything he's heard about this federal team the detective has joined is true, they will probably take turns to end the bastards who touched one of their own. He definitely would join the party with great pleasure. What they did to Kensi Blye… It's _personal_. Slamming someone's head on the ground until the skull cracks, leaving them drowning in their own blood, instead of just shooting them and making sure they're dead for good ? Damn personal.

And touching one of them, is like threatening them all. So, getting to make this call to Deeks, and tell him his partner is alive and that he's going to make sure no one comes anywhere near around her is probably the only thing that makes this day a tiny bit less shitty. They all swore to protect and serve, yes; it doesn't mean it _ever_ gets any easier to think that it's best if they're the ones who get hurt, and not innocent people. That's theory, that's the implicit oath they take; real life is different. And real life damn hurts – real life sees good people like Kensi Blye _almost_ die in a filthy abandoned warehouse.

Oh, he's heard many things about her – who hasn't in LAPD, anyway ? He's probably only talked to Marty Deeks once or twice through the years, but he knows everything that needs to be known about this woman. And the first thing is that if somebody touches her, Deeks will make sure that's the last thing they'll ever do. Lt. Cole knows it, so he's not at all surprised to see Deeks storming in, a frantic look in his wild blue eyes. What he didn't expect, though, was to see the man finally notice his presence, and almost run to him, stopping just a second before nearly crushing his hand and arm with his fingers.

"You saved her," Deeks manages to let out, his fingers absently tightening their hold. "You saved my partner."

"I _found_ her, I did my job."

Deeks shakes his head. "You saved her life. She wouldn't be there if it wasn't for you guys. You saved my partner's life, Evan." He releases his arm, and steps back a little. "I won't forget this, ever. How is she ?"

The dreadful question. He doesn't even know how to answer this one without scaring the hell out of the younger detective, as if he weren't panicked enough already. "She was barely breathing when we found her, Deeks. They took her to the OR the instant we arrived. They said…" He pauses a minute, gathering his thoughts. He lifts a hand to Deeks' shoulder and squeezes, locking eyes with him. "There's a lot of damages. Head's the worst, but she also has a couple broken ribs, other cracked. It ain't pretty. But, they said we found her early enough. There's still hope, Deeks."

If someone can survive this, it's Kensi, Deeks muses. She's been through worse, both physically and emotionally. His Kensi is a fighter. But his Kensi wouldn't be fighting right now if he had been there with her. If she hadn't hidden things from them. If she wasn't this damn reckless.

_Selfish_, too. Because, keeping them in the dark, obviously following a lead on her own without caring about what it would do to them if anything happened to her… God, that's fucking selfish. And, he thought that considering how far they've come through the years, Kensi knew better than to scare the shit out of him and leave him alone to deal with the mess. Deeks hates himself for thinking this. For _feeling_ like this, being angry with her when she might not come out of surgery alive.

God, she just can't know how much she means to him, for doing something like this.

Almost dying on him.

And so, Deeks swears to whoever is interested in knowing, to himself, to God, to _her_, to let her know, and damn well make sure she never does this again, even if it means having to deal with a pissed, fierce, homicidally angry Kensi.

Better having her sulk and hate him or try to kill him, than lying on a table at the morgue, he thinks.

* * *

_to be continued_


	3. Chapter 3

Marty Deeks has never been a patient man.

This waiting game ? Definitely not for him. Five hours that Kensi has been in the OR now, with only two reappearances of one of the surgeons (probably thanks to Hetty's insistence and intimidation) to tell them Kensi was doing okay. As okay as someone suffering from internal bleeding can be, Deeks guesses; one of her cracked ribs punctured her right lung, and that's worrying them now just as much as the multiple traumas to her skull.

And here he is now, sitting on that wooden bench with Sam, trying to understand how _this_ can help Kensi. He really doesn't like it _here_ – the silence, the mystique of the place – maybe because it reminds him of this nun back at school whom he jabbed at Kensi once for being just as serious. Maybe because he doesn't believe that there's a God somewhere, or that praying and begging will somehow change anything. Maybe because he thinks that _he_ should be doing something, instead of waiting passively, perhaps only to hear the news that Kensi didn't make it.

He should be out there, doing what he's supposed to be best at. And yet, he _can't_.

He's scared that if he leaves this hospital, Kensi might be in a plastic bag by the time he comes back.

Sam puts one of his big hands on his knee, stilling the restless movements of his leg. "You're worse than a sugar-high three year-old, Deeks. I'm trying to think."

"About what ? The best way to voice out your wish so the brilliant genius _up_ _there_ grants it ?" Deeks snaps. "No luck so far, huh ?"

Sam shakes his head slowly and looks down at his lap, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I believe in justice, Deeks. And when there's nothing _I_ can do to do justice, I like to think that sitting and praying will help." Sam pauses, sighing. He lifts up his face and looks at Deeks, meeting his tired blue eyes, knowing that the younger man is scared out of his mind. Hell, he's struggling himself to keep the overwhelming emotions at bay. "It can't hurt, right ?" he asks softly. "Faith. There's nothing wrong with faith. It can't hurt to try, you know."

Deeks leans back against the bench, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his fingers laced on his lap. "We _should_ be out there, doing something. That's what we do."

"_Could_ you, though ?" Sam asks, mirroring Deeks' actions and staring at the ceiling of the small chapel, too. "Could you leave and go to that warehouse, collect evidences, _detect_ things ?" Deeks closes his eyes firmly shut, and Sam can see him swallowing hard. "_Tomorrow_. Tomorrow, after Kensi is out of surgery and resting, we'll go. We'll do whatever it takes to find whoever did that to her, and I promise you, Deeks, I swear…" Sam stops, silently apologizing before he continues. "I swear to you we will make sure these bastards spend the rest of their life in jail, going through a living hell."

"I want to _kill_ them."

And Sam knows Deeks is being one hundred percent serious. God help him, that's what he wants, too, more than anything else. There are days when it's just damn _impossible_ to remember why they _have_ to do the right thing, or _why_ the right thing is sending those people to jail, when it would be so easy, oh so better for everyone if they just _ended_ them. The planet would be a safer place, and maybe it would be easier to deal with the loss and the pain; Sam has chosen to believe that this is not the way it works, though. That they are better people because they don't indulge in what they _want_, but do what they should.

"Maybe we'll leave them alone with you for a couple minutes," Sam finally says. "But, you'll have to share. You're not the only one…"

Deeks snorts. He brings a hand to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose before letting his palm settle on his bearded jaw; Kensi mocked him this morning for not grooming – the one thing that got a smile out of her in the entire day. "Where's Callen, anyway ?"

"With Hetty. Guess we're both partner-less at the moment," Sam shrugs. "So, if you don't mind, I'd like to _ask_ if we could get them back real quick, huh ?"

Deeks straightens up, and tilts his head toward Sam. "How do you do _this_ ?"

Sam knows what Deeks means – he's wondering how he can just sit there and pray when everything is falling apart. When there's overwhelming evidence that _nothing_ is ever going to be okay. Yet, Sam decides not to reply directly; instead, he chooses to give it another meaning. Because now is not the time to give Deeks a speech about faith, and how the only thing wrong with faith is not having it because you're too scared of being let down; too scared of seeing your hopes and expectations fall down, too scared of seeing your prayers go unheard.

_No_. Instead, Sam just merely shrugs his head and straightens up. "That's easy. You just put your hands together like this," he says, joining his hands in front of him, "and you say whatever you need to say."

Deeks smiles, and awkwardly imitates Sam. "It's really _that_ easy ?" he muses, maybe a bit more to himself than to Sam. "Okay. Do I need to say hello, or introduce myself, or –"

"Shut up, Deeks," Sam shushes him. "Do it in your head. Give me a break, will you ?"

He pats his shoulder, and both men fall in silence. It's soothing in the end, Deeks reckons; far more comforting than he thought it would. How long they stay here, he has no idea; and how long he talks to whoever is listening to him, either. He's probably only halfway through explaining why he needs Kensi Blye in his life so damn much when the door of the chapel opens, and a soft voice calls them.

"Miss Blye is out of surgery, gentlemen," Hetty says. "She made it. Mr. Callen is escorting her to the reanimation room. If you want to follow him…"

Sam is up on his feet and passing by Hetty in a second. Deeks stands up too, but he lingers at the door, watching the both of them walk away. He turns around, giving a last look to the room, his fingers clenching around the threshold of the door; suddenly, he feels his legs go weak underneath him, and he needs to hold onto something.

_Kensi is alive. And she's made it_.

"Thank you," he whispers, before calling out to Hetty and Sam, and run to them before the doors of the elevator close.

* * *

When his eyes land on her face, Deeks almost manages to forget she's lying on a hospital bed, or that she nearly just _died_. Yeah, there's the tubing in her nose, but she looks so _peaceful_, so serene, as if she was just sleeping. Relaxed. Young. _Beautiful_.

They haven't touched her face. And Deeks doesn't know if he's relieved by the idea, or disgusted by the image of some bastard hovering over her, beating the shit out of her, but admiring her beauty in some sickening way that makes his stomach lurch. The rest of her, though… God, he can only see her arms resting on top of the bright white hospital sheets, but it's already frightening him, and one thing he's sure of is that he _doesn't_ want to see the _other_ bruises marking her skin. Her clothes were untouched, Lt. Cole said, and yet, even though the layers of her long-sleeved shirt and her jacket, Deeks can spot long, large purple marks of a firm grip on her arms. And her head… It's just like she's wearing a turban, the bandage wrapped around her skull hiding the patch of uncovered skin where they had to cut her hair. Not so much, they said, and most of her curls could hide it easily, but it still bothered him.

Deeks doesn't want to imagine Kensi in front of her mirror every morning, trying to brush her hair in a way that would hide the scar and the stitches. He knows it could sound superficial, as if he only cared about her looks, but it's not about that – hell, he knows Kensi Blye would still be the sexiest woman ever even if she dyed her hair pink or shaved her head. He just hates the idea that this patch of skin will be a constant reminder of what happened to her until the hair there grows back and hides the deep, long cut on the back of her head. The bruises on her skin will fade eventually, and with rest, time and physical therapy, bones will heal and muscles won't protest as much as they will once she wakes up and tries to force them to move, exhausting and overdoing herself because that's what Kensi does.

He forces himself to stop thinking about it as he moves closer, and drags a chair near her bed, slumping onto it quite unceremoniously. He's thankful for the fact that the team left him alone, because he is a wreck and he knows that he won't leave this room until Kensi is discharged of the hospital (should it happen in a week or a year) and that at some point, it _all_ is going to come back to him – the exhaustion, the fright, the overwhelming emotions dwelling to crash him under. He knows he's going to cry; he knows he's going to turn into a nervous, pathetic wreck who embarrasses himself with confessions and declarations at his friend, the love of his life's death bed.

She can't _die_ now, though.

She _has_ to wake up and mock him for being such a drama queen; maybe _slap_ him, even, for thinking it's okay to hold her hand and drown her in with his tears.

He knows Callen collected DNA samples under her nails earlier, because there was no chance in hell that their girl wouldn't have fought and struggled and harmed her aggressors; and yet, he's hesitant as he reaches out for her, examining her fingers before softly taking her hand in his. Her wrist is swollen, her skin yellowish because of the bruise as they probably held her down, grabbing her roughly. But no finger is broken or twisted, and he _needs_ to touch her – needs to feel her warm skin underneath his fingertips, needs to know that her skin _is_ warm and not icy cold, that the blood is still flooding her veins and her pulse pounding against his fingers. He needs to feel the _life_ inside her.

He wants her to slap his hand away, because that's what _his Kensi_ would do. He wants his Kensi back, right now. So, he simply asks for it, asks for her to take pity on him and come back to him. "Hey, Princess," he whispers, lifting his free hand to her face, brushing a loose curl away before he lets his fingers linger on her cheek. "You're gonna miss _Jersey_ _Shore_ if you don't wake up. And I can't record it for you here, so… You _have_ to, Kens, because I haven't watched the show in weeks and I don't know what happened and I need you –" His breath catches, and he takes his hand back, bringing it to their linked hands as he lifts her smaller one in both of his. He braces his elbows on the bed and drops a quick little kiss to her bruised skin. "Come on, tell me to back off, Princess. Kick me, yell at me, tell me you don't want me there."

She doesn't move, and the steady rise and fall of her chest along with the annoying beeping of the monitors remain the only sounds in the room. "Tell me to shut up, Kens. You hate my rambling, remember ? And if you don't say anything, I will take it as the proof that you've been lying all those years, and that you love it, deep down. That you love my voice, that…" He leans in, and delivers the words right in her ear, his lips brushing the shell. "That it does things to you. And that it's why you want me to shut up. I'm right, huh ?"

She doesn't reply, but Deeks doesn't let it tear him down. No, not when her silence means he's right and that he will hold it against her, and tell everyone Kensi Blye wants him with all she's worth. He pulls back and settles in his chair, still loosely lacing his fingers with hers. "That's okay, Princess. When you yell my name ? It works for me, too. When you mumble it when I wake you up to drag you to the beach ? God, that's my favorite."

Deeks blinks his lashes, the exhaustion pulling him under, the ache in his back and neck after spending hours on a plastic chair finally stabbing him. He turns his head to the window of Kensi's private room opening on the hallway, and spots the two officers guarding there; he has his own gun tucked in the holster at his belt, and knows that the faintest sound will wake him up and reach for it. He almost lost her today, he's not giving anyone the opportunity to take her away from him again. So, he wraps his free hand around the gun and Kensi lying still is the last image he catches a glimpse of before his eyes slowly flutter close.

* * *

She's still unconscious when he wakes up, much later that day, when the sky is turning orange and pink as the sun sets down. He knows that in any of those chick flicks she loves and used to make him sit through before all of this, the brave hero should be woken up by his gorgeous sweetheart moving her fingers or softly calling out his name; it doesn't happen this time. When Deeks wakes up, there's a cup of coffee on the bedside table, and he mentally slaps himself for not hearing anything (if anyone else had come in the room…) before he stretches as much as possible without breaking the contact of their hands. The muscles in his shoulders protest against the movement, and his neck is stiff because of the awkward positioning, but all he can care about at the moment is his partner.

And what he's going to do if she doesn't wake up.

He thinks of her mother, and once again slaps himself for not thinking of calling Julia to let her know what happened – if it _kills_ him to see Kensi like this, he can't even start to imagine how a loving, caring parent like Julia could feel; she lost Kensi once, and he thought he'd lost her countless times, so, he reckons she deserves to know, and not be kept in the dark. He knows he can't make this call, though. Deeks knows that he will only be able to find his voice, and control the shaking just enough to call Julia when Kensi is awake, and really fine. Maybe it's selfish, maybe he will regret it, but he can't care about that right now – it is selfish, but he needs Kensi to open her eyes _for him_.

He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand before looking at his watch. 10.15 PM. He reaches for the remote of the TV and switches it on, flicking through the channels until he finds the show he's looking for. "Hey, Kens, you should see that outfit Snooki pulled out. Oh God, there's a fuchsia overload assaulting my eyes – and a pair of… You know. You look better in that hospital gown." He turns his attention back to her, and chuckles. "What, no blushing ? No calling me a pig ?"

The silence is really starting to get on his nerves – he doesn't even care about the fact that she's gone through hours of surgery and that the doctors said it was normal for her to take some time before surfacing. His Kensi doesn't need the rest, his Kensi should be annoying the hell out of the nurses, so much that they would complain and have her kicked out of the hospital. _That's_ his Kensi, not this almost lifeless, weak, pale girl lying in bed, _no_; his Kensi should be trying to coax him into helping her escape against medical recommendation, pleading him with those puppy eyes (she had definitely stolen the look from him, obviously) she only used as last resort. Before that, she would invade his personal space, flick her tongue on her lips or toy with her hair, all the while watching him watching her, and knowing right before even _he_ would that she had already won him over. That's his Kensi, and he wants his Kensi, now.

"Come back to me now, Kens. Wake up and tell me you're only coming back for doughnuts if you want, but… Just wake up, okay ?" He leans in and breathes in her hair, the sanitary hospital scent still not covering the sweet combination of candy and shampoo that is his Kensi – it's just a faint breeze, but he thinks he would smell it and recognize it, alive or dead. He feels the moisture threatening to fall at the corner of his eye, and tightens his hold on her fingers, praying he doesn't hurt her. "So much for playing the role of the sexy male lead, huh ?" Deeks laughs against the skin of her neck, pressing his lips in a thin line to hold back the tears. "I begged, Princess. I'm begging now, okay ? What else do you want from me ?"

* * *

_to be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

_And here it is, the end of this little exploration of the despair, fear and all the other emotions ranged in between that overwhelmed our poor Deeks. Thanks for the support, the nice comments and your enthusiasm for this little piece! That said, hope you enjoy, and who knows ? Maybe I'll see you soon with another story._

* * *

It's after two days of refusing to leave her bedside (Sam _basically_ shoves him into the small bathroom so he takes a shower after Hetty makes a comment), two days of living on bad coffee and terrible hospital food – the amount of jelly he devours is _ridiculous_ – that she finally stirs. He's quietly watching TV (dozing off, his eyes glued to this stupid show she loves and that he can't stand, because Callen told him he looked like a psycho stalker watching Kensi all the time) when he hears her; it's a soft whimper, just a breathless, torn word leaving her barely parted lips.

His name.

"_Deeks_," she struggles to form the word, her tongue darting to moisturize her dry lips.

He's on her the next instant, yelling out so someone comes instead of simply pressing on the button – God, he _knows_ the button by now, with all those times either one of them has ended up here. Kensi tries to lift a hand to her face, but the IV there stops the movement, and she winces.

"Don't move, don't speak, okay ? I'm there, so shut up and let me take care of you, Fern."

Kensi lifts her hand to his shirt, biting on her lip as she does so; she fists the fabric and tries to pull him to her, even though the movement is so weak it doesn't even make him move. It merely just makes her grimace at the pain, so Deeks leans in until their faces are barely an inch apart, straining his ear to hear the low murmur. "Deeks… They – they're coming for us… I'm sorry, I –"

"Shhh, Kens, breathe," Deeks soothes, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes as he places his palm on her cheek, letting the tip of his thumb gently trace her cheekbone. "No one's coming in here, there are cops in every floor, and the guys are there, and _I'm here_. No one's _touching_ you, I promise."

Kensi coughs and tries to open her mouth again, but she's interrupted by the crowd of visitors rushing in the room. For long minutes, she tries to complain, shrug their hands off of her, but she doesn't find her voice; her throat is sore and dry, and everyone is too busy checking on her vitals – God, she is alive, _right_, so how can those be so interesting ? – to give her a break. She sees Deeks standing near, craning his neck to see what's happening, and _for_ _once_ she would love it if he could just get all territorial and possessive and shove them off of her; if he could just _be_ his usual self. And her Deeks is supposed to hate it when he's not the only one revolving in her world.

And, the feel of all those _unknown_ hands on her just makes her sick, and Kensi's not sure she's strong enough to roll on her side and throw up on the floor.

"Deeks," she whimpers again, too exhausted and honestly, too broken to do much more. "I don't – get them off of me…_Please_."

He shifts closer, almost pushing the nurse as he stands by her bed, a hand on the railing, the other on her shoulder. "Do you really need to do all those exams and check-ups right now ?" he asks, hardly concealing the annoyance in his tone. "She's been through enough already."

He looks down at her, giving her a warm, reassuring smile, stroking his thumb against the bare skin uncovered at the collar of her gown. There's an angry reddish blossoming bruise at her clavicle, and he keeps his fingers feather-light on her. Any other day, if she had ended up here for getting hit by a freaking _moving_ car, or beaten up, Kensi would have probably been annoyed by the gentleness, the hesitation – as if touching her wasn't such a good idea, as if she were some fragile porcelain doll who couldn't be handled. Today, though, it's only gratitude he spots in her dark mismatched eyes; gratitude, and maybe some _fondness_ as she tries to reciprocate his smile, only to fail and hiss at the pain as the doctor's hand presses on her arm. There are so many bruises there, but it's probably the sharp intake of breath that hurts the most, air surging against the cracked walls of her chest.

Any other day, Deeks would like to think that the pain could somehow end up reminding her that she is _human_, and that she _has_ to stop overdoing herself; not today. No, not when her features stretch under the excruciating wave, not when he nearly just _lost_ her, for God's sakes. A bump on the forehead after an encounter with a scumbag is one thing, sore limbs or a bleeding wound are okay, but _this_ ?

Sheer _luck_ has to be thanked for the fact that his partner is still alive. If not for it, her absence at work the following day and her not returning any of their calls would have set alarm bells (and probably have him rushing to her place in no time), but it would have been too late. She would have bled to death in that warehouse, alone and hopeless. They would have lost her.

He would have lost her. And so, seeing her in pain, seeing her in this state, weak and broken and nothing like the Kensi Blye he knows, the woman whose determination and strength dazzle him on a daily basis, well, it _breaks_ him. It utterly breaks his heart and whatever strength he owns – and that he should offer to her right now – to know that she's in such a pain, that she's _scared_ enough to need him by her side, to need him to _protect_ her.

Deeks _hates_ this. He thought he would love it, love the feeling of saving her, of being _needed_ and appreciated, but he doesn't; not for a second. He simply can't see her in pain. And that voice… His name, barely above a whisper escaping her lips…

It's weird in a way, that his name would be the first thing she'd say, when she didn't even say goodbye the other night. A short nod of her head after he wished her a goodnight had been the only proof she had actually heard him before storming out. Every night had sort of looked like this for quite some time, though; ever since that day and all the yelling, things had been tense at the worst, but cordial at the best. On some days, he had managed to get a smile out of her, a tiny laugh he knew she had _tried_ to hold back. Deeks knew she wasn't angry at him, that it wasn't something he had done – at least _that_ helped, knowing he had not broken something between them. It hurt, though, not having her punch him not so playfully all the time, or slap his hand as he would try to change the radio station.

So, hearing his name… It kind of put things in perspective.

Yeah, he's wasted so much time already – _they_ have wasted all this time, and they won't ever get it back. But, Kensi is here, now. She's still there, breathing painfully, but _breathing_; not in such a great shape, probably up for weeks of forced bed rest and physical therapy, but God, she's _here_.

The doctor steps back, telling Deeks – anyone knows Kensi Blye _never_ listens anyway – to make sure she takes it easy and doesn't hesitate about using the pain reliever button. Sadly, Deeks thinks that this time, she won't be stubborn and keep pretending nothing freaking hurts; he for sure will press it _if_ she doesn't. As they exit the room, he catches the nurse by the elbow, holding her at the door. He asks her if she can let the team know that Kensi is awake, but if she can also make sure they understand just how very tired she is right now, and that visits must wait a little.

(He has no shame admitting he wants her just for himself for a little while. Particularly when she's asking for him to be there and keep people away.)

Any question needs to wait.

Any lecture, too. Hell, he's got one in mind all ready for when she feels better.

The nurse nods and leaves the room, leaving them alone. Deeks walks back to Kensi's bed and drags his chair closer, taking her hand back in his. To his surprise, she squeezes back. "Hey there," he says softly, his lips slightly trembling as he tries to smile. It's hard to control the emotions, but Deeks reckons he's been emotional enough for a lifetime these past couple days. "You thirsty ?"

"I – I need to explain," Kensi starts, coughing again, and jolting every time. She raises a hand to her side, but Deeks reaches for her hand, gently putting it back on the mattress.

"You shouldn't move if you can avoid it, Kens." He takes the remote of the bed in hands, and murmurs a quick apology before pressing the button that lifts up the bed. He reaches for the pitcher of water and pours it in a glass before he puts the railing of her bed down and sits carefully on the edge, leaning toward her. "Here, take this."

She doesn't even look angry or irritated by the fact that she needs him to help her. It bothers him, though, for some reason; maybe because of the defeated look in her eyes, the sadness obvious there, the burning _fear_. He hates that she is sorry. She _should_, for scaring them like this, but explanations or apologies are definitely not what he _wants_ from her.

Kensi takes a sip before trying to speak again, but he forces her to drink the entire glass before letting her. It's when he tries to go back to sit on his chair that her fingers close around his wrist, even ever loosely. "Stay… Lie down with me."

"There's not much room in here, Princess."

"Guess we'll just have to make some adjustments," Kensi says, giving him a sheepish smile. "I'm sure we can figure it out. We always do, right ?"

She's smiling at him, and it's been so long since the last time he has seen this lightning up her face it sort of _hurts_. She doesn't smile at him like this oh so very often, anyway – she'd rather go for the devious smirk than the genuine, tiny almost shy smile, and yet…

It's probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

_Definitely_.

He puts a hand on her knee, hoping there's no damage there as he lays his palm as delicately as possible. "I'm afraid of hurting you."

Kensi reaches for his shirt, her fingers curling at the hem. He feels the tip of one brushing the skin of his stomach, and he hardly suppresses a shiver. Her smile just grows a tiny bit bigger – they _have_ to have injected her with something heavy. "You couldn't. Just… Don't leave me again." She tries to give a nonchalant shrug, but only ends up tilting her head on her shoulder. Looking at him from underneath her lashes, her tiredness showing in the way her eyes slowly flutter, but, damn if she's not utterly gorgeous and adorable like this.

He's about to ask why she said _again_, but he bites it back; he can hear the silent _plea_ loud and clear. And so what if she wants a hug, or just arms around her ? What if she wants _him_ around, what if she wants _his_ arms and the feeling of knowing she's _safe_ wrapped into _him_ ? Then, he will give it to her. He will give her anything she needs and wants right now, even if he knows he's anything but ready to let go of her in the aftermath.

"Okay… How bad are your legs ? Does it hurt to try and move ?" he asks, since he has no clue of what her injuries down there might be, if there's any.

She frowns – either because she's surprised he doesn't know or asked, or because she doesn't know _herself_; everything must hurt right now, he assumes. Kensi tries and bites on her lip as she bends one knee under the covers. "It's just – just a bit sore. Guess I couldn't walk right now, but…" She averts her gaze, looking down at her lap. "Worst is my ribs."

"Okay… We're gonna work around that, then," he says softly as he gets up and stands still for a minute, trying to figure out how to do this. Kensi is definitely all slender, but the bed is not made for two people, however tiny one of them is – and Kensi definitely looks tinier than usual.

He asks her to straighten up, and his apologies as she pants or gasps get interrupted by her demanding that he does not; yet, he apologizes again as he wraps his arm around her back, sitting next to her and taking most of the room in the bed. He tries to tuck the pillow between his arm and her head, but Kensi slowly shakes her head. "No, no, I don't need that," she whispers, "I just – _just you_, okay ?" He nods and she rests her head on his shoulder, trying to hide the fiery pain that has her wincing. He sees it, but doesn't comment. "I hate hospitals," she continues after a moment, inhaling and exhaling slowly as she tries to regulate her breathing so it doesn't hurt. "Hate the smell, hate the feel of the sheets. You smell like their soap," she adds as she tilts her head toward him, shifting to get closer. "But… That's only because you didn't leave me, right ?"

"You know the answer to that."

She smiles. "Yeah, I do. I also know that… That I'm the one who should apologize, and be sorry for what I –"

"You damn well should be sorry," Deeks interrupts her, though there's no trace of anger in his tone. He's calm and gentle, he's _Deeks_. "And I will make sure you remember why you should be sorry every day for the rest of your life. Starting when you're discharged from here, Fern. You're staying with me." Kensi opens her mouth to protest, but he rolls just a bit on his side, and raises a finger to tap her nose, silencing her as her eyes narrow, ridiculously fixed on his finger. "Whether it's for three weeks or three months, I don't care. You're not leaving my sight again. And then, carpooling every day, so I can make sure you've not gone rogue or done something stupid during the night. That's what you get for scaring the hell out of me."

Weirdly enough, Kensi doesn't think it sounds like a threat; it's more like a promise. A promise that would have scared her, months ago, that much she knows – the constancy, the balance his _existence_ had brought into her life were things she never knew she wanted. _Needed_. And now, the idea of having Deeks checking on her every day for the rest of her life sounded more than appealing. It felt good, having someone who cared and wanted to know where she was at all times; someone who wanted to be there with her. _For her_.

"I'm sorry I –"

"You're here now," he cuts her off again. "Now, all I want from you is to rest and then, you're gonna have some serious explaining to do, and –"

This time, she's the one interrupting him. It's a thought that has been bugging her, even back when she couldn't even find the strength in her to form a coherent thought in her foggy mind. She doesn't _get_ it. "How did they find me ? How did _you_ find me ?" she asks, looking up at him, craning her neck as much as she can until it stirs and hurts, _dammit_. "The woman… She knew my name, knew I was a fed. And, there are cops all over the building, right ? That's what you said…"

Deeks lowers his head until he can look her in the eye. "A dozen officers from SMPD. Some buddies from LAPD, too, and well, Sam and Callen are there. And I'm here. You have nothing to worry about."

"That's not what I meant," Kensi replies softly. "And I do know I'm safe with you…" A small smile tugs at his lips upon hearing that. "I meant… how did you know I was in trouble ? _Why_ did you come after me ? I – I've been so horrible to you, Deeks…"

"Don't you ever say that again, _partner_," Deeks says just as quietly, his voice barely above a whisper in the small space between their mouths. And yet, it's deafening to her ears. "I'm always going to come after you. God, that makes me sound like a stalker," he laughs, and smiles when she does, too, without seeming to be in too much of a pain. "We're a team, Kens. You and me, the guys and us… You left in such a hurry that evening, that you forgot to give the watch back to Hetty."

_The watch_.

She owns her life to the cops who found her, to her friends, and to a simple object. A golden, girly watch. The watch Hetty had made her wear that day for the assignment, a watch in which was hidden a GPS tracker as she had left with their suspects, followed and rescued by the guys thanks to the golden bracelet.

Her life for a watch. God, that could be material for a movie. A bad one. God, she'd still probably go and see it with Deeks, mocking how so very unlikely it is.

"I guess that they reactivated the tracker when…", Deeks trails off, pausing a moment. He lets the fingers of his free hand drift to her wrist, lingering softly on the swollen bruise there. "During the fight, when they held you… Maybe they pressed the button. Maybe you did, we will never know. But, I was still in OSP, Callen was there, too, and Hetty… And the alarm went off in Eric and Nell's office, alerting us that it had been reactivated. And, when we saw the address…"

He pauses again, and swallows hard the lump in his throat. There are unshed tears there, he knows it; tears that are threatening to fall, however hard he tries to hold them back. Tears he isn't sure why he should hold back, though.

She scared the hell out of him.

She _killed_ him. And, those agonizing moments between the phone call from Lt. Cole, and them arriving at the hospital… God, they're _forever_ marked in his memory.

Sheer agony, that's it.

"I tried to call you, you know," he says softly, leaning down enough to touch her forehead with his. "Three times, but your phone was turned off. I figured you didn't want me to bother you… And yet, I tried. I stayed late at the office, couldn't leave the bullpen – I didn't want to, I guess. I didn't want to go home, or drive by that Thai place you love, 'cause… Because I would have wanted to pick some take-outs and come to your place for a movie night. And, we don't do this _anymore_ these days. So, I stayed. And Callen… well, he's _always_ there, huh ? We saw the address, and I wondered what the hell you were doing in Santa Monica so late, in a deserted and secluded area, and… I almost grabbed my keys and run to get to you myself, but Callen stopped me. He stopped me and told me to call SMPD, tell them we might have an agent in distress. Because he knew that we could never get there in time, in case you needed us…"

"I was trying to –", Kensi starts, but she never gets to finish her sentence. She doesn't know how to, really. It's too complicated, there's so much she needs to confess, so many things she must say and explain. She only ever meant to protect them.

Her family.

And her family had been threatened. And though she knew it was stupid to keep secrets, stupid to try to do everything on her own, she had done just that.

And she _should_ have died for it, if not for this watch and this GPS tracker she had not thought of, that could have alarmed them way earlier, and have them come to help her. If not for the way she had stormed out of OSP, forgetting to give it back, giving no time to anyone to remind her. She was running away from _him_.

Away from the man holding her in his arms because she _pleaded_ him to.

Is she the only spotting the irony, the paradox in this ?

Apparently, Deeks doesn't. He doesn't even seem to care about it, or remember that he's supposed to be angry at her for lying and almost dying on him. And quite honestly, Kensi is in no position to remind him when his eyes meet hers, those deep, gorgeous blue orbs of his having her melt with just one look, and the softness of his fingers as he lays a palm on her cheek – in no position to resist, or push him back, and really, she doesn't want to, _can't_ imagine doing just this when he leans in, and closes the distance between them.

Oh God, his lips on hers…

He kisses her, ever softly and yet with this gentle insistence that comes closer to _desperation_, or hunger with every touch of lips and every stroke of his tongue on hers. Deeks kisses her, and Kensi can't fight back the urge to pull him closer, not caring about how her muscles and limbs protest at the motion – hell, wanting him closer is more of a priority than a dumb thing like pain. It hurts to raise her arm and grip the collar of his shirt to try and pull him toward her, it hurts to just breathe, the sudden rush of air knocking her poor lungs out with every intake of breath, but God, it's so fucking _worth_ it.

She kisses him back – how could she not, really ? – and the vicious liquid fire of excruciating pain filling her veins turns into tension coiling so tightly in every inch of her, in the pit of her belly, turning into a fire that has her completely _burning_. Burning from the feel of him, his body pressed against her even though he's still _so_ _far_,_ too far_, and burning from the desire that surges through her, and pushes the pain in a corner, the pain retreating and almost gone for a moment, an instant frozen in time when she can only think that she doesn't want this to _ever_ end.

It hurts, though. _Her head_. She tries to focus on the sensory overload, every emotion overwhelming her in the sweetest way, the feel and the scent of him drowning her in, making it impossible to even just _try_ resisting, and yet, the giddiness soon dissolves into utter drowsiness. Until Deeks leaving her breathless, knocking the air out of her lungs stops feeling so damn exquisite, and the feeling turns into a furious pounding of her heartbeat against her temple.

Kensi whimpers against his lips, against her own will because God, she needs him even closer; she's not had enough, and she can't imagine how that could be _possible_. Deeks drops a last peck on her lips, softly, sweetly, before he draws back, a sheepish smile tugging at his face. His eyes, though, gleam with this cocky spark that she loves pretending she hates, when really, it all but makes her _swoon_. Every single damn time.

"So much for taking it easy," Deeks chuckles, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip. Kensi mirrors him, encountering the taste of him on her. He strokes his thumb on her cheek, grinning like what Kensi can only describe as an idiot. "This is getting really cheesy," he teases.

"You're lucky I can't hit you right now," Kensi warns, the threat so weak coming out of her lips – not so much because of the state she's in, but for the total lack of irritation in her tone.

She leans back against his shoulder, shifting until she finds a position that doesn't hurt too much; it's hard, but Deeks' presence and proximity reveal themselves to be a huge pain reliever. There's a silence for a moment that lingers and lasts, until almost ten minutes pass by without a word – it's not awkward, though. And so very unlike the silence Kensi experimented earlier as she thought of him, trapped in that warehouse, and all alone. Back then, the silence had been oppressing, terrifying, and his presence in her mind had been accompanied by regrets collecting and hovering over her, making the last minutes an utter hell. Just thinking of him, and everything that could have been was probably the weirdest, and quite honestly, the scariest experience she's ever been though.

Being in his arms now… It was _still_ weird in a way, still so new, so unlike her and so very much like him – Deeks was clearly a cuddler, an adorable, loving, caring man, partner and friend. And yet, it was everything that Kensi needed at the moment.

Probably for times to come, too.

She ponders a second on what to say, what to do. She sighs, and Deeks stays silent, waiting for her to make the next move; giving her the opportunity and the possibility of doing so, after so much was taken from her during that fight that she had lost, the first in a long, _long_ time. She clears her throat, and starts with the beginning of it all. It is, after all, the only way to come clean and explain.

"I'm sorry I put you through all of this… But I was just protecting you all…"

* * *

She is released two weeks later, much to her dismay and growing irritation with every passing day. What annoys her the most – what makes her even more homicidally angry than Deeks lying to her all those months ago – is that Hetty has been very clear about work: paperwork duty until she can breathe without wincing.

This woman is the devil.

Deeks empties his trunk filled with all her stuff, and God knows if she has plenty, before coming back to the car to help her. She's grown to appreciate it instead of complaining all the time – maybe because it's Deeks. Maybe because he doesn't make her feel like she is some damsel in distress who can't move a finger and needs to be carried because she's fragile.

Or maybe just because it's him. And because he's the only one she would ever allow to be this close, and see her this needy.

He opens her door for her and offers his hand, and Kensi just playfully slaps it as she balances her legs out of the car, ready to climb out. But, the slight pang of terror she felt tugging at her chest earlier when they left the hospital resurfaces; within the damn walls of this hospital room, she had been safe. The police officers had stayed another couple days after she woke up, and then, there were Deeks and Sam and Callen, one always there with her, watching over her.

She told them everything she knew, everything she had hidden. She apologized, said again and again how very sorry she was, how stupid she'd been.

Sam had touched his knuckles to her cheek, saying he wished she wouldn't have done this all alone, that they were a team, but that he knew why she had done that. He had said – and God, how it had reassured her – that he would have done the same.

Callen… She's pretty sure he was angrier with himself than with her. Callen was so _obvious_, even though he never shared or talked about what he felt; as her team leader, it could be read all over his face that he felt guilty, and thought he had _failed_ her. Failed to teach her not to go rogue, failed to have her back, failed to recognize the signs. Failed her as a friend, too.

And Deeks… God, she still couldn't figure out why he was still there, why he cared and loved her so much, when she had been all but a bitch to him. She didn't complain, though – _God, no_.

But even with the comfort and warmth of his hand in hers, Kensi couldn't help the fear creeping up within her. They were still not safe, and now that they all knew, she felt like they were in constant awareness of their surroundings, always checking if they weren't tailed, always calling and checking on each other. She had thought she could protect them all, and now it felt like a bomb had been dropped, and they were waiting for the explosion.

"Hey, I'm here, okay ?" Deeks says softly, squeezing her hand as he interrupts her train of thoughts. "I'm not letting anything happen to you, okay ? And you have my back, right ?"

"As much as possible with broken ribs," she snorts, finally letting him help her get out of the car. He smirks, and laces his fingers through hers. "Thanks, though," she continues, letting out the word in a breath as she looks down at her feet. "For trusting me, even after –"

"Even after you tried to save us all," he finishes for her, his tone firm, leaving no room for another round of apologies he doesn't want to hear. She's alive, that's all that matters to him. He softens when he sees her bite on her lip, and pulls her just a bit closer as they reach his front door; he presses a soft kiss to her temple, reveling in the fact that he can do just that, now.

God, he gets to kiss her.

And when those broken bones heal…

His lips linger on her skin, and he tilts his head just so they touch the shell of her ear as he delivers the words directly there. "Just never do this to me again, okay ? Don't you dare die on me again."

"I promise I won't ever lie to you again," Kensi deflects, and yet, it means so much more to him. To her, too, to promise those words, to have someone she actually wants to make promises to. Promises she wants to be around to keep.

She leans up on her tip-toes and presses her lips to his, her fingers curling at his belt – both because she wants to feel him, can't help touching him, but just as much as she _needs_ the balance when he kisses her back.

God, no one's ever made her shiver like that.

He leads her in, straight to his bedroom – the guy can be focused at all times, she thinks, before the smirk and the witty retort die on her lips and tongue when he tells her to slip under the covers and sleep. God, she's tired of sleeping, tired of resting; she needs action, she needs to talk and laugh and, damn, she needs him to _be_ himself. Goofy, pushy, flirty. She needs his hands all over her, she needs the seductive rumble of his voice against the sensitive skin of her neck, the low groans deep in his throat, she wants to thread her fingers in his hair, let them linger and roam and explore, she wants it all.

She wants his arms around her, or else she's not sure she can actually fall asleep.

So when he tries to retreat, telling her he's going to let her rest, even daring suggest he's giving her his bedroom and that he will sleep on the couch because she needs the space, well, that doesn't please Kensi. At all. So, she asks, ever innocently: "Can you help me get out of these clothes ? It hurts to raise my arms above my head."

"You're wearing a button-down shirt, Princess," Deeks laughs, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"I think I lack the dexterity to remove it right now," she presses, curling her fingers around the waist of his jeans.

"I think you're still loopy," Deeks grins, wrapping his arms around her before he leans in and brushes his lips against hers. He deepens the kiss, distracting her as his fingers fly to her chest and slowly tease every button off its loop. Deeks lets them skim over her sides, ever softly, ever lightly, and yet, it still gets a small whimper out of her lips. He knows she wishes it didn't as she presses more against him, and he lets her do so for a minute before pulling back, settling his hands on her shoulders. "They're not gonna heal if you keep putting your body through much more than it can take," he says softly, and Kensi looks away, sighing.

"I'm not so breakable," she protests weakly as she stifles a yawn. "And I'm not tired, just getting bored while waiting for you to stop being such a girl."

He chuckles and reaches for her belt, deft fingers unbuckling it before focusing on the button and zipper. "I'm getting you in bed, Kens," he says, "so you sleep." He drops a peck on her cheek as she groans, but she still lifts her legs to help him get her out of her jeans as he pushes them down.

She's left in her bra and panties, in his room, in all her injured, bruised, almost naked glory, and all she can think about is that maybe he really is a girl for letting the opportunity pass. Deeks, on the other hand, merely shrugs, knowing he is going to have Kensi Blye in his bed for weeks.

(At least for now.)

He's about to reach for her suitcase (Oh God, how he loves the idea that she's going to stay with him _this long_) when she stops him, grabbing his arm with her hand. "I want your shirt."

She tries to pull it over his head, but stops in mid-track when the pain kicks in at the motion as she lifts her arms. Deeks grabs her wrists softly and follows her lead, discarding his clothes, too. And then he grins as he helps her get her arms through the sleeves, and then her head through the collar. It's huge on her and reaches her mid-thigh, and yet, even though it's supposed to be the other way around, even though he'd love nothing more than _undressing_ her, he can't quite help thinking that she's never looked prettier.

She probably could compete with herself, all tousled and hot and bothered beneath him, but, _heh_.

As he pulls the blanket over the both of them, Kensi curled up against his side, half lying on top of him, the awkward positioning due to her injured ribs sheer routine by now after all these nights tucked in the small hospital bed, he thinks that it's doomed to happen eventually.

Soon.

It's _inevitable_, he reckons.

Just as much as it's inevitable that they finally catch the men who did that to her. And when they do, God help him, he will _break_ them; break them like they broke her, rip them apart for touching her, for laying a hand on her, for threatening her.

For daring touch what means the most to her, for using her only weakness.

_Them_. Her family.

God, he will make them wish they never came across their way.

But, not _today_. Right now, his partner is slowly falling asleep on his chest, a huge tee and a pair of panties away from being naked.

Oh dear Lord.

* * *

_the end._


End file.
